


Try Again?

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson-centric, End of the World, Gen, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Lazarus Pit, Not Canon Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Resurrected Jason Todd, Romani Dick Grayson, Saving the World, Time Shenanigans, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25871908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Fifteen years of training.Fifteen years of preparations he didn't know he was making.Fifteen years.And he still failed.Try Again?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Koriand'r & Garfield Logan & Raven & Victor Stone, Dick Grayson & Original Character(s), Dick Grayson & Red X, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Roy Harper & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 19
Kudos: 156





	1. Dream

A decade and a half of near-constant training.

A decade and a half of pushing himself to the limits and fighting and trying to be the best he could possibly be.

A decade and a half as Bruce’s contingency plan―the “oh-shit” button for when things finally got too intense and someone needed to step in, whether it was with Bruce or with someone else.

A decade and a half to prepare for the day Bruce finally told him to go all out, and yet―

And yet he still hadn’t been strong enough to do what he needed to do.

He’d fought his way through the big bad’s troops, swift and ruthless and sparing no thought toward non-lethality, because leaving them alive was a lot less important than getting them out of the way. Because Bruce had told him to go all out. He’d struck them down one after another and he’d barely broken a sweat by the time he reached Arrio.

And yet…

It hadn’t been enough.

When the moment came, when victory was just a second or two more away― he  _ hesitated. _ Instead of landing the final blow, he’d paused. A half-second’s delay, no more. No less. But it was enough and too much.

Arrio had taken the brief pause and used it to his advantage.

Thrust his spear through Dick’s unprotected abdomen―in through the stomach, out between his shoulder blades. It almost happened in slow motion, and he almost didn’t even feel the tearing of skin and organ and muscle or the breaking of bone as it happened. His brain was too caught on the fact that just a  _ second _ had cost him this.

The force of the blow lifted him off the ground, and Arrio had grinned. Laughed. While Dick suddenly found himself with a mouthful of blood, heart pounding in his ears.

Arrio practically kicked him off the spear.

He hit what little remained of the wall with a thud and a crack―another broken bone, he imagined.

It was all he could do to try and get back to his feet, but he never made it. He only managed to scrambled into a more upright sitting position before Arrio was there. Before the Spear was piercing back through him. In through the stomach, out through the lower back.

All of a sudden he couldn’t feel his legs.

Was this it?

Was this the end?

A decade and a half, and  _ this _ was what he did when his moment came?

He hesitated landing the final blow and got himself  _ killed? _

… Oh, well.

He’d done all he could. He’d tried.

At least he’d done enough that maybe, just maybe, the others would be able to take Arrio down. If nothing else, he’d bought them time.

Bought them time and wore Arrio down even just a  _ little _ bit.

His hands scrambled to the spear still embedded in his gut, starting to feel the pain of all the damage―the impalements, the impact with the wall, all the other hits Arrio had landed. It was enough to make his vision go blurry around the edges. Enough to make the gasping breath he took in  _ shake. _ Blood soaked through his suit, creeping through the material and spreading upwards while it started to coat his hands as well.

God.

_ God. _

Oh, God, he―

He was going to die.

He struggled to stay calm, struggled to try and steady his breathing, clutching at the spear. But each breath still came as a gasp, some ending in a cough. His mouth was full of the taste of copper and more than once he coughed hard enough he spouted blood from his mouth. He could feel it drying on his chin. His ears were ringing and he was shaking until he wasn’t anymore and everything sort of went black. Had his eyes fallen shut?

Some sounds broke through the ringing. Sounds of fighting.

Someone was touching him. Someone’s hand was on his chest.

“Dick?” Raven’s voice cut through the noise, “Dick, can you hear me?”

He struggled to look at her. Tried to open his eyes, but… Everything felt so  _ heavy. _ He got a flash of light, managing to crack his eyes open for a  _ second _ before they fell shut again.

There was nothing but the ringing for another moment.

Then, a hand on his head, running through his tangled hair.

“You did really well,” Raven said, and she sounded a little choked up, “Thank you.”

He wanted to say something.

All he managed was a weak hum on his next exhale.

At least he wasn’t gasping anymore.

“... Go ahead,” She uttered, “It’s okay. You can let go. You deserve to rest.”

Another hum.

But he obeyed―he stopped trying so hard. He stopped making an attempt to open his eyes, to speak, to listen.

He exhaled slowly, letting himself go more or less limp.

He didn’t even hurt anymore. He didn’t know when he’d stopped hurting.

He just felt cold, now.

“Raven?” He heard Tim ask, “Is he―?”

“Not yet,” She replied, “... But there’s nothing I can do for him. He’s lost too much blood already. He’s barely here at all. I― I don’t know how he’s still conscious. He should be in shock.”

She sounded like she was choking a little, and he hated it.

He hated the sound of someone else giving a choked noise even worse.

“Grayson,” Oh, that was Damian. “You idiot. You weren’t supposed to  _ die.” _

There was no response that he could give aside from a soft breath. That was all he had left in him, really―breathing. For now.

A sniffle. “I― I’m going to miss you. Dumbass.”

… He’d never heard Damian cry before.

But he was hearing it now, no matter how cut off it was― no matter the fact that he sniffled and clearly scrubbed roughly at his eyes and cursed under his breath as if angry and ashamed that it was happening at all. That seemed… Just like Damian.

Unprompted, the mental image of Damian at his funeral knocked the wind out of him―or would have, if he was breathing properly to begin with.

The ringing in his ears returned.

He breathed out, and choked on his next inhale.

If he could still speak, he may have asked someone to put him out of his misery. Not let him choke to death on his own blood. Not let him bleed out like this.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jason’s voice came through the ringing, “You’re just going to let him  _ choke to death?” _

Well, at least someone else was on the same page he was. And at least it was Jason.

Jason would put him down clean.

But he didn’t hear anything else.

He felt someone put their hand on his chest again, softly. It… He could tell it wasn’t Raven, or Jason, or even Damian. He didn’t know  _ how  _ he knew, but he knew.

The hand moved to his right hand, carefully prying it away from the spear. Suddenly he felt like he could sort of breathe again. He felt a little less weak.

He pried his eyes open.

The first thing he processed was that everything seemed frozen. That was because his gaze was directed upwards, at the sky, and there was a bird. Stationary. Unmoving with its wings spread open in flight. Prying his gaze away, he looked to see who was touching him at the same moment they pressed something into his palm.

Whoever it was, they were cloaked much like Raven, with the hood obscuring their face. The cloak was gray and settled around their shoulders as they held his hand. As they closed his fingers around whatever they’d given him, then laid his hand back over his abdomen. There was a chain, he could feel that much. Some kind of pendant?

_ “Take this.” _ They said, and even their voice was unidentifiable.  _ “And try again.” _

“Try again?” He croaked in question.

* * *

He jerked awake, sitting bolt upright in bed and shaking from head to toe. His right hand was clutched against his abdomen, other holding him up as he panted for breath.

_ Lord, _ what a  _ nightmare _ that had been. He could almost still feel the pang in his gut from having been impaled. That was  _ freaky. _

At least it was only a dream, though.

Just a dream, and thank fucking  _ Christ _ for that. That had been horrifying. It was still horrifying. Jeez. Bleeding out slowly in an old courtyard… Ugh. Not how he wanted to go.

He panted until he could draw in a reasonable breath, finally peeking his eyes open to stare at his lap.

He squeezed his hand tighter against his stomach, about to relax, but…

He was holding something.

_ He was holding something _ and he could feel a chain.

Slowly,  _ so slowly, _ he opened his hand and looked into his palm. There was a small golden locket on a silver chain, engraved with an hourglass.

_ Take this and try again, _ his mind supplied.

Try again?

Something like cold dread washed through him. Try  _ again? _ And he’d  _ woken up not on the battlefield? _ Where was he?

How far back had it set him?

His head jerked up. He didn’t recognize the room around him― not at first. It was so plain and cold-looking. Devoid of personal touches.

And then he realized.

_ The place he’d been staying before Bruce took him in. _ That was what this was. That was where this was.

Horrified, he swung his legs out of bed and scrambled for the mirror he knew was above the dresser, just out of his view. He was off-balance, stumbling on his way. Realizing that his worldview had been severely altered. Everything was too tall now.

He made it to the dresser, heart pounding in his ears, and looked into the mirror.

And his ten year old self stared back at him from the reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is honestly my fave trope so this happened
> 
> here's to hoping that i actually finish this one lol
> 
> i'll warn in advance that things are gonna be different and that there's not really a heavy OC presence, just... a couple of really important OCs. But yeah, there's gonna be differences and I'm taking heavy creative liberties because I straight up do not feel like fact-checking every single thing, not to mention it's a redo anyway lmao so some things are bound to be different
> 
> fun fact! Arrio means "warlike" in both Greek and Spanish
> 
> while you're here, if you don't mind me grabbing your attention for a sec - I'm currently running a [poll](https://forms.gle/rLgzjuHPtwbFYXNZ9) to see what folks want to see me writing, and i'd really appreciate any feedback I can get on it since I'm trying to write with frequency, if not some consistency.


	2. Unreal

The closet had always been Dick’s least favorite part about this room. It was large, and the door didn’t shut all the way, and it was dark. As a ten year old who had recently watched his parents fall to their deaths, the darkness staring at him from the gaping maw of the closet had always put him in a bad sort of way. He’d had a lot of nightmares and a lot of trouble sleeping, in the past…

Now, he was thankful for it.

He had scrambled backwards away from the dresser and mirror, terrified and sick with the realization of where and  _ when _ he was, and the only place in the room that the mirror couldn’t even begin to reflect back his reality was in that closet.

He almost  _ crawled _ his way into the darkness, feeling oddly comforted by it now when it would have made it hard to breathe before. That was one reason he knew it hadn’t been a dream―he’d learned to be at home in the darkness. He’d learned to fade away into it and be comforted by its very presence. That wasn’t something that he would learn in just a dream and hold onto well enough in his waking life that it would stick.

The pendant drove the idea home just as much.

He settled in the shadows, breathing hard and shivering. What day was it? What time was it? How long since his parents…? How long until Bruce? How long would it take him to re-teach his body everything he had learned the first time through?

Many questions, and no ready answers.

Overwhelmed, body unused to fighting down tears at this age, he choked on a sob and dropped his head against his knees.

Try again? How was he supposed to be able to try again?

He’d faced a fifteen year setback! He didn’t have any idea how to handle this.

He’d done a lot of crazy, impossible things in his life, but this―

This was too much.

He sat there, crying like a child (and reminding himself once or twice that he  _ was _ a child right now), until, inevitably, his body gave in and he fell asleep there on the floor of the closet. If he was lucky, maybe he’d wake up at a better time. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe the Arrio thing had all been a dream, too.

Maybe.

… But probably not.

* * *

He ached when he woke again, back sore and everything below his hips totally asleep. He hissed, trying not to get too overwhelmed when he realized he was still sitting in the closet, and slowly straightened his legs out.

Feeling the pendant still in his hand, he lifted it to look at it for a moment in the dim light from the rest of the room―from the window. It was morning, now, then, at the very least. And the pendant was the same as last night. He regarded it, bit his lip, and slipped it over his head, letting it hang against his chest while he waited for his legs to wake up.

When they were more tingly than painful, he slowly stood and hobbled out of the closet, wincing and hissing as he went. Tears stung his eyes and he stubbornly fought them back. He’d have to learn how to control them one day, may as well start now… No matter how uncomfortable he was. He knew all the right things to do to make it less noticeable to himself, but… Well, his body wasn’t taking the cues yet. It wasn’t trained to.

This was going to be a lot of work.

But if nothing else, he got an early start on it this time.

… Now to figure out some of the answers to his questions.

His suitcase sat against the edge of the bed, half-open, and instinctively he pulled it up onto the surface and flicked it open. It was heavy, but… It wouldn’t be soon. He’d do what he had to to make sure of that.

He changed out of the white t-shirt and plaid pyjama pants he was wearing, setting them aside to be put back on tonight, like usual. Or, well, as was usual when he was ten. He was just glad he remembered that much, frankly. After pulling on a shirt, then one of his mom’s too-big hoodies, and a pair of pants, he took a breath. Hunted through all the pockets of his suitcase.

Nothing but clothes. No files, no pictures… Nothing.

… Had he not started going after Tony yet?

Squinting, he knelt and peeked under the bed.

No, he had. Good.

He reached for the folder and dragged it out. If nothing else this would give him a good idea of how long it would be before Bruce took him in. Or at least a  _ decent _ idea of it. He knew he didn’t make a whole lot of progress.

Unbidden, some of the same old anger he’d actually had when he was ten sparked up.

He pushed it down. No use dwelling.

Tony would go to prison, and that would be that.

There wasn’t much in the file, which was to be expected. Ten year old him had been smart, but he had no training. It was hard for him to make any progress without being caught. But  _ now _ he had the memory of having been trained.

All he had to do was start in on the training.

First step? Start working out once he knew how long he had.

It looked like he’d probably been on Tony’s case for about a week, which was fair. That meant he had another three until Bruce took him as his ward. Three weeks was plenty to at least get a jump-start on his training, and maybe enough to actually get something incriminating on Tony to get him in prison sooner rather than later.

Bastard.

He stuffed the file back under his bed for the time being, eyes going to the bedside table. The alarm clock told him it wasn’t even six yet―breakfast here was usually at seven-thirty. He had time to work a little.

Hesitating, he tried to figure out what he could really get done.

… If nothing else, a little strength training couldn’t kill him.

He took a breath, got down on the floor, and started in on pushups. Until he knew his limits, he couldn’t get anything done. He didn’t remember at  _ all _ what his limits had been when he started training with Bruce, so re-establishing them was the only way to move forward now. He imagined he should be able to do at least twenty before his arms got shaky―he wasn’t a vigilante, but he  _ was _ an acrobat. His arms were strong… Ish.

He got to twenty-five before the shaking got intense enough that he had to stop to take a break. He could probably have hit thirty, but it was best not to push himself  _ too _ far yet.

He took another breath, and settled in to plank while he waited.

And so on and so forth until eventually, there was a knock at his door. He jumped a little, but thankfully didn’t jostle himself too much where he was, two minutes into a wall-sit and shaking and sweating from everything else.

All in all, it had been a good start to the day, and a good start to his… Apparent second attempt at his life.

“Yeah?” He called, glad he wasn’t panting.

His voice made him wince.

The door popped open. “Breakfast,” Said the woman, who blinked in surprise at seeing him still mid wall-sit. “... You’re up and at ‘em awfully early.”

He grinned sheepishly, reminded that he didn’t usually even get out of bed until this wake-up call for breakfast. She merely shook her head and pulled the door closed, heading off. He pushed off the wall at the three-minute mark, flexing his legs a little and feeling sort of giddy at the shakiness. Whether that was him going back into hysterics or just a result of the novelty of his body not being trained to such an extreme that he barely got fatigued when working out, he wasn’t sure.

He headed down to breakfast.

He had three weeks before Bruce, so he just had to act ‘normal’ here until then.

The calendar in the hallway leading to the dining room cemented that for him―it was nearly two months after the day his parents… And a month and a half since their funeral. So three weeks until Bruce.

Only three weeks.

… And then another fifteen years until Arrio.

He shook that off.

If he played his cards right, maybe Arrio wouldn’t even show up.

He doubted it.

The dining room doorway loomed up before him. Okay, act natural. He almost plastered a big fake smile on his face like he usually did, but―no, no. That wouldn’t be right. Not here. Not now. His parents died two weeks ago, he needed to be closed off and bitey.

… Easier than pretending to be happy right now, if he was honest.

He entered the dining room and saw the others and the woman all at the table―most of the people here were older than he was. Young adults, teenagers. He was the only one under thirteen, basically.

It was more of a halfway house than an orphanage or foster home. Dick was here because… He didn’t actually remember what had gotten him put here instead of on the streets or one of the more appropriate institutions. Gotham’s orphanages weren’t that bad, so by all means…

Ah, he guessed it might’ve had something to do with the fact that he was such an angry little fucker at the age of ten that the only people equipped to deal with him were women like this one―ones who usually dealt with troubled youths. Drug addicts, runaways, that sort of thing.

He took his seat, getting a couple of odd looks.

“Man, aint ever seen  _ you _ outa bed this quick.” One of the younger teens snorted, twisting a strand of long blue hair around her finger. She already had mascara and eyeliner on―not surprising. He remembered her. Samara, he thought her name was. “What’s got you all bright-eyed ‘n bushy-tailed?”

He fixed her with an annoyed look, watching her grin in response.

“I wouldn’t call him bushy-tailed,” One of the others close to his age rolled their eyes as they took a seat, “Bright-eyed, though… Well, they  _ are _ a really pretty shade of blue.”

He turned his annoyed look on them, and they only shrugged.

“Let’s not start a fight over breakfast,” The woman said, gently, and Dick directed his look at the table instead.

What was her  _ name? _ By all means he should remember  _ that _ better than he remembered Samara’s, but… Hrm. Well, he guessed he  _ did _ interact with Samara a little more often the first time around, didn’t he? She liked to antagonize him. She was… Four years older than him, he thought. Something like that, at least.

But the  _ woman. _

He picked at his food, trying to seem disinterested but inevitably actually clearing the plate―which, thankfully, wouldn’t be too out of character. He’d done a lot of huffing and pretending he wasn’t interested the first time around, too. Usually ended up eating, if he remembered. And he couldn’t afford to not finish his meals―not if he was going to keep his body in top shape. Later on in life it was a little less of an issue, but right now he needed all the nutrients he could get.

Needed to get strong and  _ stay _ strong.

Molly! The woman’s name was  _ Molly. _ Molly Black.

Ms. Black.

Cool, now that he’d remembered  _ that _ out of nowhere…

The meal went normally, mostly. Samara antagonized everyone, they responded in their own ways, and Dick spent most of it glaring or cursing under his breath. This time around it was easy to tell that Samara wasn’t just being an asshole―she was antagonistic in the way that, like,  _ Roy _ was antagonistic. She was joking, even if some of them fell flat or hit too deeply. It was…  _ Lovingly _ antagonistic, you know?

He’d bet anything she was trying to lighten the mood, or at least give everyone a common ‘enemy’ if lightening the mood wasn’t possible.

Once breakfast was finished with, it was time for everyone to head off to school.

The nearest school was a block away, which was why breakfast was at seven-thirty and no later. Gave them all time to eat and then go to school.

Dick never went.

It was the same school he had attended before his parents’ deaths, since Haly’s Circus was about two blocks away in the opposite direction, but given he usually attended about half the year and spent the rest of the year traveling anyway he was sure it didn’t seem terribly unusual to them that he wasn’t there. And, thankfully, none of the others at the house had sold him out yet.

“Runnin’ off again?” Samara asked, brows lifted high as Dick started to split off from the group when they were almost at the school, only items on him his camera and a small notebook, both tucked into the pocket of the hoodie.

“Yeah.” He snorted in response.

Samara squinted a little. “Somebody’s gonna end up telling Molls.” She said.

“Fuck whoever does and fuck the school system.” He said, frowning at her, “Sides. The school sure as fuck aint gonna notice.”

She frowned in return, and yeah. Lovingly antagonistic was definitely the descriptor for her. She was worried about him, and he couldn’t really blame her. This was a ten year old.

“Just go,” He waved her off, “You know I’ll be back right as you guys are heading home anyway.”

“Fine,” She said, in that typical annoyed fourteen year old girl voice.

If anyone told Molly, it would probably be her.

But she wouldn’t, and he was  _ fairly _ sure of that. As long as he didn’t come back hurt, there’d never be any real reason for her to worry, which meant there would be no reason for her to get an adult involved. He wasn’t even sure why she was at Molly’s place. Wasn’t sure he’d ever known.

Guessed, ultimately, that it didn’t matter.

He headed into the city. His body might not have gotten with the program of him being a detective and a vigilante yet, but it would, and for now? He could try to find and tail Tony. If nothing else, he had been a quick study in staying silent. He could get his body back into that quickly.

It’d only taken a week the first time. It couldn’t take any longer the second time, especially if he started early and with all his prior knowledge on his side.

Finding Tony was… Easy. Easier than it should have been.

But then again, he knew how to follow a trail and he remembered the places Tony usually hung around, not to mention he knew a lot more about where the mafia usually hung around than he should.

He found a good vantage point, quietly snapping a few pictures. Looked like he was in some kind of meeting. Squinting through the camera lens, he was even able to read the guy’s lips, along with his companion’s, jotting down everything as he read it from their lips into the small notebook he had on his thigh.

He tailed the guy for most of the day, not getting much except when he could get close enough to reliably read his lips. Even then, though there wasn’t a lot of real evidence.

If he wanted that, he’d have to tail him at night.

But tailing him at night would run him into Bruce, so he needed to wait until closer to the time he’d originally done it. As much as he  _ wanted _ to meet back up with Bruce, as much as he wanted to get on with it and get to work on  _ real _ training… This part was important. If he changed  _ nothing _ else he wanted to change this. He wanted to be the reason Tony went to prison and he wanted to  _ know. _ None of that bullshit where he got caught out on something else and then Bruce lied to him about it for the next eight years.

So he vowed to get what he could during the day.

He could afford to stick a whole lot closer and do this a whole lot more often now than he could the first time―he wasn’t near the silent shadow he’d become later, but he was good enough, had enough experience even without the muscle memory, that he could get something done.

Nearing three, he reluctantly headed back toward the school, sinking into the group that was already leaving the property to head back to Molly’s place.

Samara noticed him immediately.

He had a pocket full of pictures and a body that was aching from the extra exertion it hadn’t expected, and he felt… Oddly good. Oddly peaceful and maybe a little giddy from, for sure this time, the novelty of being sore from working out.

“You look like  _ you’re _ in a good mood.” She noted, raising one brow.

He chose to stick his tongue out at her.

She blinked, as if surprised, then laughed. He figured there couldn’t be any harm in befriending her this time around… There really couldn’t. It was just one more person for him to strive to be better for.

And one  _ much _ earlier than he’d have had one otherwise.

He didn’t try to be better for Bruce or Alfred until he was eleven, so that wouldn’t have been for another year and a couple months. Although he’d probably be doing that earlier this time, too… As long as Bruce just listened to him.

Night eventually fell, and Dick sat in bed unable to fall asleep. This still didn’t really feel…  _ Real. _ It was wrong in too many ways, but right in too many others. It was foolish to think maybe he’d wake up closer to when he should be, and yet he still sort of hoped. A second chance was great and all, but…

Hm.

He toyed with the pendant, which he’d hidden under his hoodie for most of the day, and wondered. Who could have even  _ done _ this? He hadn’t recognized the person, nor their voice. To his knowledge they weren’t any of the people he knew of who had any amount of time-travel on their side. And yet, they’d just… Tossed him fifteen years into the past. Given him another chance. A chance to do things better. To do things  _ right. _

There were so many things he could change… And who knew how that would affect his life, but he was going to try. He was going to change what he could. Try to make things better.

The best place to start was with this―with Tony and with Samara. Gathering as much information as he could, enough incriminating evidence as was possible, against Tony Zucco and befriending (or trying to befriend) Samara. And then, three weeks from now… Bruce.

If he could turn their relationship into something less like a business partnership early on, that festering resentment he sort of hefted around until he was 18 might not have any place even existing this time around. That would be cool.

He breathed out a sigh, laying back in bed  _ again _ , and chewed on his lower lip. All of this was strikingly simple in theory, but likely wouldn’t be anywhere  _ near _ that in practice. Having a kind of/sort of game plan would still help, of course… It was just. Ugh. There were a lot of variables here. He knew what happened if he didn’t change anything, but he had no way of knowing how things would change as he changed things. Were there events that he couldn’t change no matter what? Probably.

Another sigh.

He turned onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face into his pillow.

For now…

For now he needed to sleep.

And if he ended up laying there awake for the rest of the night, he guessed that would be fine too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so clearly i'm taking some... creative liberties with this but who cares lol  
> again, there's probably going to be a couple of important ocs through the course of this? considering that Arrio's already here being a bastard lol and Samara's been introduced. just bare with me on them, okay? it's fun writing non-canon characters into things like this to spice things up
> 
> anyways let me know what you think!!


	3. The Best Laid Plans

Over the next three weeks, he established something of a routine for himself.

He woke up more or less with the sun, spending the time until breakfast working out for a variety of reasons, not limited to the fact that he needed to be working on his strength. He’d go to breakfast, he’d bicker with Samara over the meal. He’d bicker with Samara until they got to the school, then he’d split off and go watch Tony on the days he could find him. On the days he couldn’t find Tony, he sort of wandered the city looking for him and keeping an eye out for any of his future co-vigilantes. Then he’d return to the house, usually with the rest of the folks who lived there, and bicker with Samara some more. While the others did their thing in the evenings before dinner, he’d go over anything he’d managed to get on Tony. He’d eat dinner, bicker with Samara some more, and then head up to ‘bed’. He’d work out, think about the future, and eventually fall asleep… Most nights.

He and Samara became fast friends once he started bickering with her instead of shooting her glares, and by the third week the bickering was a lot more like gossiping. It was nice.

Still, the night had finally come, and he was…

Honestly kind of nervous.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, raising one brow so high it almost disappeared beneath her choppy blue bangs, and Dick motioned for her to be quiet as he stalled on the bottom step of the stairs. Her other brow joined the first, but she didn’t say anything else.

He moved over to her quietly.

It was about nine in the evening, and he was usually working out right about now, but he’d skipped out on that in favor of catching a catnap tonight. It was time. Tony was going to be in a ‘meeting’ tonight, and he could probably get some decent pictures, if nothing else. On top of that? He was likely to run into Bruce, which meant if he played his cards right he would be Bruce’s ward very soon.

“Something  _ stupid as hell,” _ He finally told Sam, when he was close enough to whisper, “But I’ll be back, okay? Just… Pretend you didn’t see me.”

Going out through his window would have been better than this, because there was absolutely a chance that Sam would tell Molly, but ultimately, the way he saw it… If he didn’t trust her to keep  _ this _ a secret, he couldn’t trust her after this, either. So it was half a test, half a way to avoid accidentally hurting himself trying to land without making any noise. His body wasn’t ready for that yet. He’d sprained his ankle last time.

Sam seemed hesitant, but ultimately she nodded and motioned for him to go.

He slipped out as silently as he could. The door didn’t so much as creak.

He was in the city alone in the middle of the night for the first time, and it felt just as freeing now as it had the actual first time. Short of a stray cop or Bruce, there was no one to see him, no one to stop him, and anyone who  _ did _ see him wouldn’t stop him. Wouldn’t stop the little wandering semi-dark-skinned kid out in the middle of the night for whatever reasons they had for not stopping him, whether it was prejudice or simply because they knew it was none of their business.

When he’d been able, he’d been working on his climbing ability as well in the last couple of weeks―hopefully it would be enough to get him where he needed to be without any serious hurdles. It had been hellish last time to get to the top of this building… If nothing else, maybe this time would be slightly  _ less _ hellish.

Arriving there, he had to duck behind a trash can to avoid being seen by any of the gangsters who were arriving on the scene. He’d gotten here earlier than expected… But that was fine. He guessed that was probably just because he knew the city a lot better this time than he had the last time, so he hadn’t gotten lost in the dark streets.

He didn’t recall getting lost the last time, either, but the memories were pretty foggy anyway. It was fifteen years ago, after all.

Once the gangsters were inside the building, he started his climb to the top of the building. If he was unlucky he’d meet Bruce before he got any meaningful pictures. If he was lucky, he’d get good pictures and some notes, and  _ then _ meet Bruce. If he was not… Well.

He’d probably meet Tony face to face before he got a chance to meet Bruce, honestly.

But that was worst case scenario.

Dick’s  _ body _ might not be ready for what he needed to do, but he could force it if he had to.

He knew what needed to happen.

Creeping up on the skylight once he’d crested the top of the building, he ducked down low to stay out of sight. The moon was high in the sky, not obscured by even Wayne Tower, casting a weak light down over the dark city. It felt… Right. Felt more right when the clouds began to creep in and darken the world around him further.

He snapped what pictures he could. He didn’t have much money left to waste on film, seeing as most of what his parents had left him was in a savings account that was locked until he was 18, so he had to make tonight’s pictures  _ count. _ Had to get good ones.

Down in the building, money was changing hands, and alcohol was being had. Tony and the others were having a  _ grand _ old time and― ugh, there it was. There was the anger. The same, unfiltered and bone-deep anger he’d had the first time around. Look at them go, down there―laughing it up over alcohol and cold hard cash. At least one of the people here had been directly involved in his parents’ deaths and it…

It boiled his blood to see them celebrating anything.

He shuddered with the force of the anger. Bit down on his tongue to keep from saying anything or doing something stupid. He wasn’t a twenty-five year old with all the strength and smarts necessary to jump in and take down every one of these guys, and he wasn’t in a position where he felt okay violating the no-kill rule besides, so he had to stay up here and he had to stay calm.

It wasn’t easy.

And he was shaking head to toe with rage, only managing to still himself long enough to snap incriminating photos, when his straining ears heard the swish of a cape. He froze on the spot, head snapping up and swivelling. Which direction had Bruce come from last time? Was he coming from the same direction this time?

“You shouldn’t be here,” Came Bruce’s voice, from off to his left side.

Dick jerked his head in that direction, trying not to be intimidated at the sight of Bruce looming over him in a way he hadn’t done in a  _ long _ time. But he drew his shoulders up defensively on instinct, bristling.

“Mind your fuckin’ business,” He snapped back―not what he’d said the first time, certainly, but far more accurate to his current feelings.

Besides.

He knew Bruce dealt well (at least later) with kids who were outright hostile at first, and he may as well start giving him practice for Damian and Jason  _ now, _ you know?

“Kid,” Bruce sighed, seeming very exasperated but thankfully not angry at all.

“Piss off.” He pointedly turned his face away from him, looking back down through the skylight and snapping a quick picture, “This aint about you.”

Knowing that Bruce had seen him before this, knowing that Bruce would be processing who he was right about now, he snapped a few more pictures and only managed to reach down to snag the pile that had built up before Bruce was, more or less, hauling him to his feet by the back of his hoodie.

“You shouldn’t be here,” He repeated, still more exasperated than anything, “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

“Not like it matters,” He replied, squirming a bit in Bruce’s hold and clutching both his camera and his pictures to his chest.

As he’d learned to read Bruce with the cowl on  _ years _ ago, he was able to see the concern that lanced through the man at that.

“What are you doing?” Bruce finally asked, releasing him and stepping back a bit.

Dick, scowling, stuffed his pictures into his hoodie pocket―and the scowl was only half-fake, because that anger  _ was _ still rolling in his gut and he  _ did _ still sort of feel annoyed with Bruce for interrupting him―before taking an annoyed picture of Bruce as well, to his clear dismay and irritation.

“That  _ fucker _ killed my parents.” He answered, though, flatly, “I  _ know  _ he did.”

It didn’t actually answer the question, but it really did, you know?

The understanding look that crossed Bruce’s face confirmed that.

“Kid,” Bruce started.

“I want his bitch ass in jail.” Dick said, as no-nonsense as he could be with the voice of a ten-year old. “Or dead. Whichever.” At Bruce’s wince, he continued, “So I’m gonna make that happen.”

He hadn’t come totally unprepared, tonight―he’d brought along the backpack he was  _ supposed _ to use for school, containing only the file full of what evidence he had grabbed in the past, and his notebook and all of tonight’s pictures save the one of Bruce were tucked away into his pocket. If he’d had a phone he would have brought it, but he didn’t. Not yet. He wouldn’t get one of those until Bruce had taken him in.

Bruce regarded him for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. We’ll see what evidence you have for this later. For now, you should go home. I’ll deal with this.”

Dick gave him a long, flat look, and Bruce vaguely winced, but ultimately seemed to decide he’d deal with it after he’d dealt with the gangsters downstairs―which he promptly did, dropping in through the skylight and scaring the piss out of all of them. It did satisfy Dick on some level to see them briefly scramble fearfully before they started fighting back. 

He made sure to snap pictures of everything he could.

A picture of Bruce’s controlled fall down to where the gangsters were, of their startled faces after he landed, a shot or two of him beating them up… Those felt nice to see, as well.

He was gathering his new pictures up off the roof when Bruce returned, and he tried not to wince at all at him being back. He felt… Nervous, all of a sudden. Very nervous. A lot more like how he’d felt the first time this happened, just… Without quite the same undercurrent of anger. Because, like, he was still angry, sure, but it was an old wound now and even if the anger had resurfaced it wasn’t anywhere near as strong. It was just that he had a lot more time to stew on it and stewing didn’t exactly make peace with it at all.

But actually helping put Tony in jail this time?

That would definitely help make peace.

Okay.

Task at hand.

He shuffled the pictures into the correct order, then made sure the rest of the stack from tonight was also in order, and pretended not to notice Bruce.

“... You have keen senses.” Bruce said, after a moment, at last approaching and breaking the silence, “But you should still be headed home… And not involved in this.”

“Well, too bad. I snooped on accident and got my parents killed, now I’m snooping on purpose to get this guy out of my fucking city.”

Bruce winced very visibly at that one.

“... Do you have evidence?” He asked.

“Plenty. Granted some of it is written down and the product of attempting to lipread but. You know. You do what you can when you can’t get close enough to hear.”

“So your evidence is primarily photos, then? Of just tonight?”

“Of the last month, actually.” He frowned, knowing Bruce didn’t know him yet and didn’t trust his evidence because he was a ten year old, and trying not to be angry about it.

Bruce’s brows clearly rose, even with the cowl obscuring most of his face. “May I see?”

“Not on top of a building where my fuckin’ pictures and notes can get blown away.”

On a semi-unrelated note to everything else, being able to curse since he woke up in Molly’s house had been incredibly freeing, as was doing it right now. Like… It was  _ really _ freeing. There was a whole range of words he didn’t normally get to use around Bruce, or at all unless he trusted his company…

Still, with only something of an annoyed puff, Bruce agreed that this was not the place to review evidence and allowed him into the Batmobile. Took him to the Batcave and kept a hand over his eyes for most of the drive. Dick allowed it, despite already knowing how to get there, and simply sat and waited until after the Batmobile had come to a complete stop in the cave and Bruce’s hand had fallen away from his face.

He stepped out of the Batmobile, and looking around completely knocked the wind out of him. It was…

It was so  _ empty. _

All the gadgets he and the others left laying around, finished or in development or what have you, all the extra costumes in various states of disrepair and upgrade, all the extra screens and computers, all the spare tools, all the trophies, all… All of the things he loved about the Cave, more or less. Gone.

Or, well.

Not here yet.

He could start remedying it soon enough. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been the reason all of that happened the first time around anyway.

Still, the shock of the emptiness lent itself well to what Bruce had expected of him, which was always good.

He took a breath, took another look around.

“Nice digs,” He said, stepping away from the car and making a beeline for the empty table that would one day be home to spare parts and assorted gadget blueprints.

Bruce sort of snorted at that, following closely behind with the soft hissing sweep of his cape the only immediate tell that he was right behind him. His footsteps were muffled, and Dick was pretty sure at this point in time that was primarily because his boots were so old the soles were soft enough to negate most noise.

Reaching the table, he slung his backpack off and into the lone chair, unzipping it as soon as it was stable and pulling out his little file of evidence. He sat it down on the table, then pulled out his notebook and tonight’s pictures.

“I couldn’t take any notes on what was being said tonight―had to keep my view wide so I could catch anything happening in the background, so I couldn’t focus too hard.” He said, taking only a moment to be sure that everything was in order before stepping aside. “All my pictures and notes are dated except for tonight’s, since, well… I haven’t gotten the chance to yet. And my notes are timestamped.”

Bruce seemed… Quietly impressed.

To be honest, Dick was a little impressed with himself as well. Like, sure, he was  _ technically _ twenty-five and had been doing this song and dance for the last fifteen years, but… To an outside party he was a ten year old. A ten year old from the circus who had never done anything like this before. That was impressive. And, hey, if he’d made any mistakes? He had the excuse of being ten and inexperienced.

That was nice.

Bruce spent the next several moments going through his evidence, sweeping through it with critical eyes and his jaw set. If there was anything he was dissatisfied with in the file, he didn’t say anything.

“Well,” He said, finally, setting the file down, “You’ve certainly got enough to get him convicted on fraud and money laundering. But can you prove he killed your parents?”

“I fucking  _ wish.” _ Dick sighed, looking away, “All I’ve got on that is, like, my own testimony.”

“Which is?”

“The night before my parents died I heard him talking to someone about it. Pretty sure that person was, uhh…” He paused, nabbing up tonights photos and flicking through them for a second, then pointed at one of the men, “This guy. He holds himself the same way but I can’t be sure? Couldn’t see his face. Anyways, I was freaked out about it and didn’t say anything to anyone about it because, you know. I’m fuckin’  _ ten _ so I needed to work up the courage to mention it to my parents. And then it happened like he said it would―tightrope ‘snapped’ and then the whole place went up like a bonfire,” He had to stop himself, feeling more distraught about this than he had since he was  _ actually _ ten because. God.  _ Jesus. _ He really could have prevented his parents from dying, huh? “... Even if he didn’t actually do it I want him fucking  _ gone.” _

“And whether that means in jail or in a grave is… Up for debate?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t care which happens.” Dick found himself crossing his arms over his stomach defensively, squeezing himself and having to temporarily squeeze his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of desire to  _ cry. _ “As long as he can’t do it again.”

Bruce regarded him, silently, for a long moment.

Finally, biting his lip, Dick said, a little hesitantly, “Even if I can’t get him convicted of their murder, him being in jail is good enough. Maybe when he gets out I’ll be old enough to actually do something about it.”

Bruce remained silent, but eventually gave a deep sigh. “Where are you staying? I’ll drive you home.”

“Ms. Black’s Home For Troubled Youths.” He replied, spitting the name out like it offended him―which, you know, it kind of did sometimes.

“... You don’t have any family to take you in?”

“My mom’s folks disowned her for joining the circus and my dad’s folks are dead or as good as, so no. No other family.” Oh. Hey. That felt kind of bitter and nasty, now that he was thinking about it again. Like. He  _ had _ family out there. He had his mom’s folks. But they’d never take their disappointment of a daughter’s kid in.

God.

Ew.

Probably for the best that he ended up with Bruce.

Bruce gave him a long look before finally nodding and helping him pack his evidence away into the file. Before he could shove it back into his backpack, Bruce stopped him.

“If I may… I’d like to drop this by the Commissioner’s office.” He said, “If nothing else, it will help lighten the workload of booking in and convicting the men they’ll have arrested tonight.”

“Sure,” Dick said, and relinquished the file to him.

Hey, as long as it got to the Commissioner and it got Tony’s bitch ass tossed in the clink, he was fine.

He piled himself into the Batmobile and pulled his hood up over his face, which Bruce seemed to accept as a viable way to keep him from watching the scenery, because he didn’t do anything else to block Dick’s vision.

The Batmobile came to a stop, eventually, and Dick peeked out from under his hood to see Bruce had parked in an alley half a block down from Molly’s place. He tossed a nod to Bruce, getting out, and shuffled off back toward the house. Bruce drove off only after he’d arrived on the porch, and Dick hesitated for a long moment before quietly slipping in.

The clock in the dark living room said it was three in the morning.

He winced, but crept up to his room regardless, where he found who else but Sam curled up on his bed and passed out completely. She must have been waiting up for him, or covering for him somehow… Probably waiting up, though.

He wasn’t sure how long ago she had fallen asleep, but he gently shook her regardless.

She blinked awake after only a couple of gentle shakes, looking startled, then relieved.

“Hey,” He greeted softly, “I’m back. Were you waiting long?”

She shook her head, though he did see her cringe when she glanced at the clock. “No. You okay?”

“I’m good.” He assured her, “Took longer than I expected, but it also… Like… Turned out better? So don’t worry about it, okay?”

She pursed her lips, but nodded.

“I’ll tell ya about it tomorrow.”

Accepting that, she slid off his bed with a mild wince, and they said their goodnights, and she slipped out of the room quietly. It was relieving, at least, to know that she had clearly not ratted him out to Molly. If she had, Molly would have been waiting up for him―he knew that. That was how Molly operated with everyone else, too.

He didn’t bother changing before he laid down, just kicked off his shoes and curled up in bed once that was done.

He woke at the same time he usually did, and this time the only difference was that he felt  _ way _ worse than he usually did. He blinked blearily, scrubbed his aching eyes, and sat up. No use going back to sleep or just laying around all day.

He worked out, as usual, spent a while in the bathroom after everyone else had gotten up scrubbing his face and trying to look a little less like he hadn’t slept last night but not managing a whole lot. He’d do better if he had some freaking  _ makeup, _ but… Ugh.

Sam was waiting for him downstairs, refraining from going to breakfast until she had seen him, and she sat right next to him for the whole meal without saying a word. He knew she was waiting for an explanation and he knew he’d promised her one. He was fully intending to keep that promise, just… Not at the breakfast table.

“On the way to the school,” He promised, under his breath, as they were getting up from the table.

She nodded.

And as soon as they’d headed out, as soon as she’d slung her backpack over her shoulder and he’d stepped out at her heels, she was hanging back to get the story out of him while everyone else continued on as normal. He wanted to laugh at the eagerness, but this was… Well. This was a whole different kind of secret to be asking her to keep than him sneaking out, and the last of the pieces necessary to know that she would keep the rest of it a secret later on.

“Okay,” He said, softly, so no one could overhear, “I― You know my parents… Well. You know what happened. Everybody does.” And he wished it was an exaggeration. The way she winced was enough evidence that it wasn’t, “Well. I uh… I know who did it. So I’ve been kind of stalking him? For evidence. Of anything that gets him tossed in prison for at least the next twenty years.”

Sam bit her lip, “D…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Stupid plan. But, I… Last night I followed him to a meeting I heard him talking to someone about, and fuckin’―” He did laugh, now, “Fuckin’  _ Batman _ showed up. Kicked the shit out of the dude and he― He  _ listened _ to me and took my folder of evidence to the Commissioner!”

She gasped like that had taken the air right out of her lungs, eyes going wide. “That― D, that’s  _ great.” _

“Yeah,” He agreed, and didn’t mention that he would soon probably be going to live with the guy, because he didn’t yet know for sure if it work out like that this time and he wouldn’t know yet anyway. “Even if it doesn’t do anything it was… It was nice having someone take me seriously about it. Especially  _ Batman.” _

“And that’s where you went last night,” She said, as if that had just processed for her, “That’s why you were out so late.”

“Yeah.”

The came up on the school, and Sam shot a look at the building. “You’re still not coming today, huh?”

“What’s the point?” He asked, for once not to be rhetorical, “I haven’t been here all semester, I’d be lost anyway.”

She hummed, like that made all sorts of sense, which… He figured it probably would to a teenage girl.

It had been a long enough time since he was her age that he couldn’t be 100% sure about it. He just had a sneaking suspicion.

Thinking about that, though, maybe… Maybe he should be approaching this a different way? Like, in terms of how he viewed it and viewed himself. He was twenty-five  _ before _ he got hard-reset to being ten, sure, but… He was kind of ten again. Maybe he should enjoy it? Actually act like a ten year old?

He might actually do a better job having a good childhood this time around, who knew.

At the gates of the school, he let Sam head on in and waved, turning to head off into the city despite having no reason to today…

… Only to run headfirst into someone’s chest and go stumbling back after he forcibly jerked away from the unintended contact, landing on his butt. His eyes went wide as soon as he’d lifted his gaze to who he’d run into.

_ Bruce. _

Staring up at a man he didn’t currently know, and should rightly be intimidated by seeing, he thought for a minute about the fact that Bruce really  _ was _ intimidating when he was this tiny. He had been… Considerably less so, when Dick was in his twenties and knew he could take Bruce down in a fight no sweat if it came down to it being complete necessity, either from actual strength and skill or just from his muscle memory telling him when and where to dodge when Bruce struck at him.

Now, he was ten, and he had fifteen years of training behind him but  _ no _ muscle memory to back any of it up. He’d never win against Bruce like this.

And so it wasn’t entirely an act when he blinked wide eyes and swallowed so hard that there was an audible gulping sound.

“I―” He squeaked, “Sorry?”

Bruce raised one eyebrow as he looked down at him, looking both unbothered and unsurprised by Dick having run into him, and maybe even unimpressed.

“Richard Grayson.” He said, and it wasn’t a question, “How convenient. I was just coming to look for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter.  
> Is freaking _four and a half thousand words long_  
>  Is it the longest chapter I've ever written? God no, but boy does it feel like it lmao


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